Mind Over Matter
by TP Knight
Summary: AU. In the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle has been reborn, at the cost of Harry's life instead of Ginny's. Not all of Harry Potter died in the Chamber however. When you absorb someone's memories, life, and soul, they are bound to leave a lasting impression. Fem!Riddle. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

When Ron's wand backfired and exploded, Harry did the one first thing that came to mind – he ran. Using his arms to cover his head, he blindly ran away from Lockhart, and hoped that he would avoid being splattered by the chunks of the ceiling that came apart above him.

When it was over, and when Harry was sure that he wasn't forcibly acquainted with the tunnel floor, he turned around to face a solid rock wall. To his surprise, Ron wasn't on his side of the tunnel; Harry was sure that he would have ran along with him instead of staying.

He looked closely at the rock wall formed in front of him. He couldn't recall any spells that he learned that would be able to blast through the wall in a timely manner – and what if the tunnel caved in?

"Ron!" Harry shouted. "Ron, are you alright? Answer!"

His heart started to fall as he received no immediate answer. Harry's mind started to reel with the possibilities, each worse than the last. _Did Ron lose his memory? Was he injured by the blast from his broken wand? What if he was under this rock wall? What if-_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ron's muffled answer. "Harry! I'm alright! Can't say the same about this stupid git though." There was a dull thud followed by a quiet "ow" that didn't belong to his friend. Whatever happened, it seemed Ron gave Lockhart a piece of his mind.

The situation was amusing – even if Harry couldn't see it – but he couldn't bring himself to smile. Ginny was somewhere deeper in the Chamber, and every second wasted was another second that could be used to save her from an early grave.

"Harry, what are we going to do?" Ron seemed to echo Harry's desperation.

Harry knew there was only one thing they _could_ do.

"Wait here," Harry called. "I'll go look for Ginny. If I'm not back in an hour..."

His voice trailed off, but they both understood, even if the words were unspoken.

"Harry," Ron said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," Harry replied, sounding more confident than he felt.

* * *

There was defiance in her eyes, an intensity that matched the fire contained in her hair. Riddle found it highly amusing, especially since Ginny Weasley was in no position to act upon her feelings. And even if she were, what could a mere First Year do to her?

"He'll come, you know. He'll come and save me," she said.

The first time Ginny said it, it was a boast filled with optimistic confidence. It showed on her face that she had faith in her storybook hero coming to her rescue. As the hours past, she had continued repeating the line, but her confidence wavered.

Now, it sounded like Ginny was trying to convince herself of her own delusion.

Riddle only responded with a smug half-smile, the same half-smile she gave every time Ginny made a comment about her impending rescue. She leaned forward, brushing her index finger along Ginny's cheek – the resulting shudder made her smile grow.

She abruptly grabbed her hostage's chin, and turned her head sharply to make eye contact.

"I expect him to come here, _Ginny,_" said Riddle, with a chilling emphasis on her name. "Saving you, however? I'm afraid that simply won't happen."

As Riddle's long, thin fingers slowly caressed Ginny's chin before removing themselves, she never broke eye contact with the red-headed girl.

Ginny's eyes still carried defiance, but Riddle noted that there was something else that wasn't there before.

Doubt. Fear. Despair.

* * *

Harry stepped through the dismal and ill-lit chamber, pausing every few steps to check for sounds. His efforts were met with a still, unnerving silence. His eyes fluttered towards the towering stone pillars with carved serpents entwined around them. They were supporting a ceiling that went unseen in the darkness above.

More than once, the thought that the stony snakes were watching his every step crossed his mind.

As he passed the last of the serpentine columns, his gaze was drawn upwards towards the sight of a large statue, as high as the Chamber itself. The face was obscured by shadows, but his eyes followed the downward descent of his beard, past the stone robes, and down to its gigantic gray feet. Laying between its feet, face down, was a black-robed figure with flaming red hair.

"GINNY!" Harry screamed. He tossed his wand away and rushed towards her, dropping to his knees when he got near. He cradled her limp body in his arms, turning her over to get a look at her face. Her skin was ash white, her body cold to the touch, and her eyes were closed.

She didn't look or feel Petrified. And yet–

"Wake up," Harry whispered desperately as he lightly shook her. Her head moved back and forth, but there was no response. "Ginny, _please_."

"She won't wake," a soft voice interjected.

Harry turned his head. When he saw the source of the voice, his drew Ginny's body closer to himself.

Leaning against one of the pillars was a tall, black-haired girl, her brown eyes fixated on Harry. He shuddered, the feeling he had of being watched by the stone snakes returning once more.

"What are you talking about? What happened to Ginny?" Harry asked, desperation apparent in his voice.

"She's still alive," the girl replied. She kept her gaze on Harry's face, her expression as stone-faced as the statue behind him. "But not for much longer I'm afraid."

Harry's look of confusion prompted the girl to continue. "The reason why she's in her current state is because she decided to open her heart to an invisible stranger."

Harry stared at her. Invisible stranger? What was this girl playing at?

And why did she look so familiar?

"I see you still don't get it. _The diary_."

The girl pointed towards a little black book lying at the floor of the giant statue's feet. The same black diary that Harry found in Moaning Mrytle's bathroom. The diary that belonged to–

"T.M. Riddle," Harry muttered in realization. He looked back towards the girl. "You're Tom Riddle! You're the one that showed me the vision!"

Tom Riddle clapped slowly, letting each one echo throughout the chamber. A half-smile found its way on her face. "A very astute observation."

"What does Ginny have to do with this?" Harry asked slowly.

"I could tell you, but it's a rather long story, and I'm afraid our dear friend here won't make it through the end," Riddle said. She chuckled when she saw the horror on Harry's face. "To make a long story short, it's because of her that we're in this situation. She opened her heart to me, and I took it."

Riddle continued to speak, but Harry ignored the rest of her words. He was staring down at Ginny's body. She looked near death; even her flaming red hair had now dulled in color, having lost most of its luster.

Harry had to do something, but what could he do? There were no spells he learned at Hogwarts that could possibly reverse something like this; it was simply too advanced for him to counter – not to mention the consequences should he fail. And he had no idea how he would fair against the basilisk, wherever it may be.

Tears started to fall and stain Ginny's black robes. Was he _truly_ so helpless that he could not save her with his own power?

_What would Dumbledore have done?_ Harry thought._ What would my parents–_

Something clicked inside of Harry's mind.

There was only one venue worth pursuing.

* * *

Tom Riddle twirled Harry's wand between her long fingers while she watched him in silence.

The impression she had gotten from Ginny was a fantastical one. The way she described the Boy-Who-Lived was borderline fanatical, his feats sounding like they were from bedtime stories rather than actual events.

Not surprisingly, the real thing did not measure up at all to the foolish girl's delusions. He was short and scrawny; he could barely quench a dragon's hunger let alone subdue one with his bare hands. He was ill-prepared for a fight (he threw away his wand for Merlin's sake!) and he did not seem to have any extraordinary magical talent.

Yet, her future self had encountered Harry twice, and twice she had failed to kill him. Once as a baby, and the other as a little schoolboy.

_How did he survive?_

"I hope you aren't planning on fighting back," she called out to him.

"Tom."

Riddle raised an eyebrow.

"Leave Ginny alone," Harry said. He lifted his head to look at her once more. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. "Take me instead."

Tom Riddle's lips curled into a knowing, awful smile.

"How very..._noble_ of you."

She waved Harry's wand in the air once. With a pop, an eagle feathered quill plus a bottle of ink appeared. The two items along with the diary levitated towards Harry, before dropping themselves a few inches away from his position.

"If you want to save her, you will write in that diary." Riddle's eyes gleamed with hunger. "Your thoughts, your fears, your very essence. Feed me, Harry Potter, and your sacrifice will not be in vain."

Harry gave her a dark look. "How do I know you won't kill her afterward? Or anybody else?"

Her smile grew larger.

"I have _you_ now. Why would I want anyone else?"

* * *

If the situation wasn't so dire, Harry would have found the whole thing to be rather silly.

The Dursleys would have never gone out of their way to get Harry a diary (not to mention it would just be ammunition for Dudley and his gang). He was reluctant to share details with even Ron and Hermione. They didn't need to worry themselves over something he couldn't control – Hermione especially.

Yet here he was, writing in his first – and last – diary about _everything._

Life with the Dursleys, "Harry Hunting", the small cupboard under the stairs, his bouts of accidental magic, and even his first Hogwarts letter.

He wrote about how vicious Snape was and how kind Dumbledore seemed to be. He wrote about Quirrel and his failed attempt at the Stone. He wrote about the parents he never knew and the family he wished he had.

As he continued to write 12 years worth of experiences, he felt himself becoming as light as a feather – for a moment, he thought he was going to _float_ away. But with the sudden feeling of flimsiness came a crushing weight of emptiness.

It was subtle, but if he concentrated enough – and even that was starting to become an exercise – he could feel himself slipping away.

He looked over to his left, where he carefully laid Ginny. Color had returned to her skin, and her Weasley hair was once again a vibrant shade of red.

"You'll be alright, Ginny," Harry rasped. "Everyone will. I'll make sure of it."

And then he only saw darkness.

* * *

Tom Riddle inspected the still body of Harry Potter, before coming to the conclusion that he was, in fact, dead.

She had accomplished a task that not even her future self had been able to do at the height of her power. For all of her future knowledge in Dark Magic, she could not kill a baby. Yet, here she stood, a 16 year old memory, standing over his corpse.

It should have incited celebration, excitement, or at the very least amusement.

Instead, Riddle simply felt tired.

Her gaze moved from the newly departed and focused instead on the recently returned. Ginny Weasley was still unconscious, but all the color had returned to her skin and hair, and the experience left her with no noticeable side effects.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She was okay. She was alr–

Riddle stopped herself at that moment. Why would she be relieved? What did the well-being of this girl matter to her? She was a pawn, expendable, Ron's only sister–

She frowned. These thoughts and feeling were completely foreign to her, and there was only one person who could have been behind it.

Riddle pulled out Harry's wand from her pocket and aimed it towards Ginny. Her death was averted for a time, but keeping her alive was something Tom Riddle never promised. What's one more death?

"_Avada Ke-_"

_NO!_

Tom dropped to her knees and cried out. One moment, she was intending to kill the little girl. The next, she was blasted with an agonizing pain throughout her body. It felt as though someone were mercilessly tearing magic away from her body.

Her breathing heavy, Tom slowly crawled to a nearby pillar. There was no doubt in her mind now.

This was Harry Potter's handiwork.

* * *

Whatever prevented her from performing the Killing Curse on Ginny did not stop her from using Memory Charms to erase anything incriminating. She also altered some of the more gruesome memories as an added mercy (one which she surmised was not completely of her own doing).

As she waved her wand to levitate the bodies out of the Chamber (and bound Ginny just in case she awoke sooner than Riddle anticipated), a large red phoenix flew around the ceiling. It's song echoed throughout the Chamber.

She grimaced. If Fawkes was here...

"Great. I have to deal with him again," muttered Riddle. "Old codger."

* * *

On the other side of the gap in the rock wall was yet _another_ _Weasley_.

_How quaint_, thought Riddle as she subdued the gobsmacked boy with a Stunner. With a few waves, his memory was also altered, and his unconscious body levitated. Tom didn't recognize the grown and obviously confused wizard next to him, and did not feel compelled to act on his behalf.

He would be an adequate meal for the basilisk.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore liked surprises. That is to say, he likes _good_ surprises, such as receiving wooly socks for Christmas or seeing someone who was vilified to act within the interest of others, rather than themselves as expected.

When Fawkes came back, the phoenix led him and Serverus Snape (who happened to be nearby) towards the girl's bathroom on the second floor. In there, they discovered a 16-year old Tom Riddle and three levitating bodies, all covered in muck and slime. Dumbledore had immediately drawn his wand and pointed it at Tom, while Serverus mimicked the action.

"We need to talk," Tom said. She glanced at the wands that were pointed at her, and sighed. "I'm not going to attack you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

Albus Dumbledore liked surprises. That is to say, he likes _good_ surprises

He just wasn't sure if he was going to like this one.

* * *

**A/N:** A story idea that would not leave my head until I wrote it. From here on out, it should be a wild ride. I probably wrote it in the summary but just to make it clear: there will be no pairings in this story.

If you're wondering why Fem!Riddle still has the name "Tom", don't worry. That will be explained soon enough.

If you spot any lack of Britisms where they should be, I apologize. I'm too busy pigging out on freedom fries, so placing appropriate stuff in there is secondary to the overall story.


	2. Chapter 2

Riddle stood at the doorway to the headmaster's office, her presence met with the silent gaze of the Weasley mother and father. It was clear in their expression of concern that they were expecting news about their children from her.

_Wasn't this supposed to be his job? _Riddle cast a quick glance at Dumbledore, who returned her glance with an innocent and questioning look. It was a look that she also had in her repitoire. _The old codger is playing games with me._

"Ginny and Ron, was it?" Her question was met with eager nods. They were hanging on every word she was saying. It felt good knowing that she cradled their emotional livelihood in her fingers. One slip of the tongue and–

"They are unconscious and traumatized by the events that unfolded," Riddle felt herself saying. "Madam Pomfrey says they'll make a full recovery though." She offered them a rehearsed, reassuring smile.

That was a mistake.

Riddle's entire body stiffened as she was seized into Mrs. Weasley's giant, bone-crushing embrace. As she muttered "Thank you" over and over to her, Riddle wondered if her newly granted life would be short-lived.

She resisted a snort. Death by Weasley matriarch. How droll.

"Molly, you'll send her along to the hospital wing as well if you don't let go." Mrs. Weasley finally released her vise-like grip around Riddle, and her saviour, a thin and balding man with red hair, stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

Relieved that she wasn't going to be ambushed by another hug, Riddle shook the man's hand, only to once again be pulled into another one of Mrs. Weasley's embraces.

She was no stranger to being thanked or congratulated. It was an image she encouraged; it allowed her to operate with little suspicion. Shaking hands, claps on the back, awards with her name on them, it was the same fanfare she was used to.

Hugs were simply not something she was used to.

_Blood traitors_, Riddle thought. _Filthy blood traitors and muggle-lovers the lot of them._ She kept repeating the line of thought as she endured the hug she was pulled into, hoping it would allow her to suppress her burgeoning enjoyment.

It was a futile effort. When she pulled away, Riddle felt herself wishing that it had lasted longer. Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone else, she enjoyed the feeling of sincerity and motherly warmth of Mrs. Weasley's hugs.

As she watched them both leave to visit their children in the hospital wing, Riddle's mind drifted to her dead mother and whether she had held her with the same kind of warmth in her arms.

* * *

Riddle sat down in one of the Headmaster's squashy armchairs, idly twirling Harry's wand – now her own – between her long fingers. In the silence that followed the Weasley's departure, Riddle decided to look around the the old codger's office.

It was completely different from how she remembered it fifty years ago. Whereas Dippet's was dull and empty, with only a single bookcase, a desk, and some portraits, Dumbledore's office was filled to the brim with trinkets and contraptions of all shapes and sizes, all which looked very useless.

The old codger was always a bit whimsical, but the room displayed such an excess amount of eccentricity, it made Riddle question how barmy the Headmaster had become.

"Sherbert lemon?" Dumbledore offered.

_Muggle candy?_ It erased all doubt in her mind. The Headmaster was absolutely mad.

"No thank you," Riddle said with false politeness, her attention now focused on the man next to Dumbledore. The greasy haired man – who, upon her first impression, looked like an overgrown bat – gave her a penetrating stare that would have intimidated lesser men.

Intense hatred for the man flared up inside of her. Wand in her hand, Riddle had a sudden urge to use a few Dark curses on the greasy git.

She frowned. It was another one of those foreign feelings.

Reining in these emotions, Riddle instead flashed the man a knowing half-smile. She took small pleasure in seeing the expressionless mask the man wore crack.

"Tom." Her gaze returned to the bearded Headmaster. "I would like to hear your version of the events that transpired."

Riddle raised her eyebrows, returning the innocent look that Dumbledore gave her before. "But Professor..."

Dumbledore raised a single hand. "I have heard what you have told the Weasley family. But I would like to hear the _truth_."

"There is no need for posturing," the stranger interjected. His lips curled into a yellow sneer. "We could always force feed the girl some Veritaserum. I still have some stores left in the dungeons."

"I don't believe that will be necessary, Serverus. I have the utmost faith that Tom will tell us what happened."

Serverus silently nodded.

Riddle looked into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, and regretted it immediately. She felt a gentle prod in her mind. Nothing that would have allowed him to see any of her memories, but it acted as a loud reminder about lying.

Riddle scowled. The game had barely started, and she was already at a disadvantage.

Resigned to her fate (and cursing herself for not learning Occlumency earlier), Riddle could do nothing else but speak the truth.

"It all started when Ginny Weasley started to write in my diary..."

* * *

Both Dumbledore and Serverus looked at her with imperceptible gazes. Dumbledore was the first to speak, a sudden weariness in his voice that was absent only moments before.

"That was most enlightening. Unfortunately, this brings something most unpleasant to my attention." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Was this diary a Horcrux?"

Riddle gave the him a calculating look. "Yes," she finally said, after a pregnant pause.

"How many did you plan on making?"

Another pause. "Six of them, making my soul split into seven pieces. Seven is the most powerfully magical number after all," said Riddle in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Thank you Tom," replied Dumbledore after he carefully inspected the now defunct diary. A twinkle returned to his eyes. That stupid, all-knowing twinkle. "You have been very forthcoming with this information, which will no doubt aid in our fight against your future self. May I ask why?"

She offered them a non-committal shrug. "My future self is a serious impediment to my goals. Getting rid of her will only help me."

"What goals might those be, if I may ask?"

Riddle shrugged again.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, seemingly satisfied with her first answer. "Now, I seem to recall that you had trouble using the Killing Curse on Miss Weasley?"

Serverus snorted. Riddle ignored the urge to shoot a glare – or a curse – at the man, and nodded.

Dumbledore faintly smiled. "I have a theory about that."

* * *

After her fifth failed attempt to get past Dumbledore's protections on her room, Riddle sat on the edge of the cot with a scowl, trying to process the information she learned within the past couple of hours.

Harry Potter had been an accidental horcrux. When the future Lady Voldemort's Killing Curse backfired and rendered her soul asunder, part of it had attached itself to Harry. The horcrux had also bestowed some of her own talents, such as the ability to speak Parseltongue (in retrospect, it made sense as to how he had even reached her in the Chamber of Secrets).

That same horcrux would have fulfilled the conditions needed to revive her memory from the diary.

But of course, anything that involved Harry Potter was _never_ that simple.

The boy had opened his heart to the diary – much like the Weasley girl before him – and the diary in turn siphoned what was given freely. In the end, Riddle had inadvertently taken far more than just Harry's life. She had taken his memories, his magic and his own soul – all of which now resided somewhere inside of her.

The irony of the situation was not lost on her. And the greasy bat had made sure that she would not forget it.

"It is almost _poetic_," Riddle said to herself, mockingly reiterating his words in a higher-pitched voice.

With a loud yawn, Riddle fell back onto her transfigured cot, hoping to continue mulling over the day's events.

Sleep claimed the girl before her head even hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter was dead, but he didn't feel dead.

He never got hungry, never felt thirsty, and never had the need to go to sleep. His bruised knuckles – from punching the wall as a test – ensured him that he wasn't a ghost.

Which came as a sort of relief, because why would he haunt haunt his old cupboard?

It was still as small and dusty as it was back in Privet Drive, and it even contained all of his old and meager possessions. Even the details of the replica were astounding, down to the spiders that shared their home with him.

His eyes turned towards the door – not that it was a hard thing to do, due to the size of the cupboard.

It was closed, and presumably locked. The other side was completely unknown to him.

In his heart, there was a sudden longing for his parents. _If I'm dead_, Harry thought, _I'll be able to see them again. They have to be past that door._

In a couple of strides, Harry had reached the door, and his hand rested on the doorknob. Memories of the Mirror of Erised flashed through his mind.

He would be able to see his parents – his family – again.

All he had to do was open the door.

"I wouldn't open it. Not yet. "

Harry swiftly turned his head around, staring at the tall, black-haired girl standing in the cupboard with him. The girl was looking around at her surroundings, both curious and disgusted.

"Why are _you_ here? Isn't this the afterlife?"

Riddle snickered. Harry looked at her with bewilderment. Did he say something funny?

"If this is the afterlife, I think I might reconsider destroying those horcruxes," she muttered.

"What? Look, I don't know why you're here, but I'm leaving." Harry turned his head, and ignoring Riddle's protests to do otherwise, opened the door. The longing and excitement in his heart was stamped out after he had gotten a good look. The smile on his face was wiped clean.

It was a small, and shabby room, but much bigger than his cupboard. It was also spotlessly clean despite the room looking completely abandoned and it was simply decorated with an iron bedstead, an old wardrobe, and a single hard, wooden chair. On the side of the wall facing the bed was a single, rectangular window.

"What is this place?" Harry asked.

He felt something grab the back of his robes, and pull him back into the cupboard, before slamming the door shut. Landing on his back, Harry attempted to scramble himself onto his feet, but failed when he was pushed down by a foot on his chest.

Riddle stood over him, wearing an expression of cold anger on her face. At that moment, Harry felt like a mouse cornered by a very angry snake.

"I told you not to open the door," Riddle spat. "Yet you ignored my warnings and recklessly continued forward."

Harry lifted his head to speak, but was forced back down.

"You want to know where you are? You're an unwanted guest in the halls of my mind."

Lifting his head up once more, he stared upwards at Riddle with a look of bewilderment. "What are you talking about? Aren't I dead?"

"Yes, you are by all intents and purposes, dead. However, there has been some...unforeseen consequences when it came to you and the diary. In the end, your soul now resides here."

"How–" Harry started, until his words were choked out by a fit of coughing, due to a sudden push from Riddle's foot.

"Listen to me, Potter," Riddle spat. "You are a nuisance. _A blight_. Your emotions and thoughts are bleeding into my own. I was rendered incapable of killing that Weasley girl because of you. In that old codger's office, there was feelings about my mother I never had – that I never _wanted_ to have – until _you_ showed up."

"What?" Harry gasped as he continued to struggle under her foot. "What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with that!"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Riddle roared. "AS IF I WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH MY MOTHER, THAT BLOODY EXCUSE FOR A WITCH!"

When she lifted her foot off his chest, Harry didn't hesitate to scramble backwards. Leaning against the wall, Harry gathered his bearings as he breathed heavily.

Riddle, who had her back turned to Harry, finally turned around after languishing in forced silence, all traces of anger in her face gone. What was left in its stead made Harry wish she was angry again.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Riddle said in a tone that Harry thought was completely unapologetic. "But it was for your own good."

Harry's jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"

"I wouldn't have to hurt you if you didn't give me a reason to," scolded Riddle. The way she spoke to him was like an adult would to a child who had just been punished.

_She's mocking me_, thought Harry.

"I didn't come here for a courtesy call, and I didn't come here to yell at you. I wanted to ask you a few questions. But first some ground rules."

Harry gave the girl a dark look. "Ground rules?"

Riddle nodded. "First, you will keep your emotional meddling to a minimum. The last thing I need is to be crippled because you wear your bloody heart on a sleeve." Riddle mockingly sneered. "Second, you will refer to me as 'Miss Riddle'. "

"And why would I do something like that?"

"I am your superior, and you will address me as such. My future self may have marked you as her equal, but at the moment I am not convinced."

Harry was gobsmacked. Equal? Future self?

Noticing the look on his face, Riddle pulled out a wand – his wand – from her robes and tapped her forehead.

Harry's hand went up to his own forehead, his fingers tracing the outline of his lightning shaped scar. His heart was beating rapidly. He suddenly felt very lightheaded.

"Voldemort..." Harry whispered before he blacked out.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he was met with the sight of dark colored eyes.

"What happened?" he groaned. His attempt at sitting upright was met with a wave of dizziness.

"You passed out and gave _me_ a biting headache," said Riddle as she rubbed her forehead. "You are quite dramatic when you want to be."

_I'm in Voldemort's head and she's forcing to call her 'Miss Riddle'. I must be going mad._

"If you're quite done with the theatrics, I'd like to get on with these questions." Harry looked to the side, and saw that Riddle was inspecting him with a measure of curiosity in her eyes. Harry nodded reluctantly.

"The surprise on your face when I said that you were marked as an equal. Don't you know why my future self marked you?"

"I tried to ask Dumbledore at the end of my first year, but he wouldn't answer."

Riddle raised an eyebrow. Her lips curled into a familiar half-smile, but did not respond further.

That smile was _really_ starting to get on his nerves.

"Do you know what a prophecy is?"

* * *

Harry stared up at the cupboard ceiling, caught off-guard at what he had just been told. "That is unbelievable."

"Unbelievable sums up most prophecies." Riddle looked around the room, clearly dismissive of the topic at hand. "Divination in itself is a magic branch that is simply a waste of time."

"Voldemort seemed to have put some stock in the prophecy," Harry pointed out.

Riddle scoffed. "Unfortunately. A lot of my future actions seem to be based on insanity and paranoia rather than any sort of rational thought. It's a bit disquieting."

Harry didn't have a response to her statement, and let silence fill the air instead. After a little while, another aspect of the prophecy started to gnaw at him. Harry felt it was better to ask for clarification now – who knew when or if she would come back?

"Riddle–"

A cough came from her direction.

"_Miss Riddle–_" Harry said through clenched teeth. Riddle smiled condescendingly. "–the prophecy applied to me and Neville. Why did Voldemort choose me?"

Riddle leaned back in her armchair, deep in thought. "Are you asking why she chose you, the halfblood like her – like me – over the pureblooded Neville?"

Harry nodded. The wave of dizziness made him immediately regret it.

"The old codger says that its because she saw herself in you. I cannot deny that we have some similarities."

Harry's expression contorted into a perplexed one. "Similar how?"

"We have both been raised in muggle homes. We both lost our parents. Through me, you were granted the ability to speak Parseltongue. Our wands being brothers is no coincidence, either."

"You know about that?"

"Dumbledore and I had a long discussion about these things. I had to make some Vows before he was able to release this information to me however." Riddle grumbled a couple of curses under her breath. Although Harry couldn't make out any of them, he was certain they were full of ill-will towards the headmaster. "While we're on the subject. I want to talk to you about the Dursleys."

Harry groaned.

"You don't like them." It was a statement, not a question.

Memories of his mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys came flooding back. "No, I do not."

Now it was Riddle who had donned a perplexed expression. "Then why didn't you do something about it?"

"I don't know. Weird things happened, but I never attributed it to magic." Harry paused thoughtfully. "It just never occurred to me to _hurt_ them."

"They forced you to live in this...this..._cupboard_. And you're telling me not once that you didn't want to get revenge?"

Harry shrugged. "What would you have done?"

Riddle stared at him. She stood up from the armchair and headed towards the door. "I would have made sure that they would never treat me like that ever again," she said, as she started to open the door.

"WAIT!" Harry shouted suddenly, forcing himself upright. He held off the wave of nausea in his stomach, and stared intensely at Riddle.

"I believe our business has been concluded," she said softly.

"I want to ask you a couple of questions," Harry said. "It's the least you can do."

Riddle turned around, a small smile of amusement on her face. "It's amusing that you think I owe you anything. I will indulge your curiosity. You get two questions."

Harry frowned at the meager amount, but decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. "Why do you call yourself Tom? I mean, Tom is a boy's name, after all."

Riddle's smile faded. "The name my mother gave me was Thomasina, a feminine version of my father's name. My father, as you can probably guess, was named Tom. I took his name back when I had delusions that he was worthy of respect. As for why I keep it..." She shrugged. "Voldemort isn't exactly an inconspicuous name anymore."

Harry nodded. Thousands of questions burned in his mind, but there was only one he was interested in asking now. "The room I saw when I opened the door. What room was that?"

Riddle paused. "I stayed at a muggle orphanage when I was younger. That was my old room," she said solemnly, after what seemed like ages. Riddle disappeared through the door, though she had left the cupboard door ajar instead of closing it.

Harry was left to his own thoughts once again, just as confused as she had found him.

* * *

**A/N:** Another installment where I butcher the source material and its characters into tiny pieces and then stitch it back together with bad writing.

If you're wondering why Riddle had that weird moment with her mother last chapter, that's resolved here. There is a method to my madness, so fret not.

I'll try to not do these author notes every chapter unless I need to address something important. I'm pretty sure everybody is too busy laughing at my story to read these things anyways.

Next up: Riddle meets with an old "business" associate.


	4. Chapter 4

The Hogwarts library was just the same as it was when she attended long ago: A massive, almost cathedral-like area with winding, full bookshelves arranged like a labyrinth. In between the shelves were solitary armchairs and large, wooden study tables on top of the red-carpeted floor.

Her dingy and cramped room in the dungeons simply did not compare at all to the sight in front of her.

A frequent visitor in the past, Tom Riddle walked the same familiar steps through the library, absorbing the crisp morning light that shined through the stained glass windows and the inviting, musty smell of paper and parchment.

Riddle deftly maneuvered the library's maze, seemingly plucking random books off the shelves. The books floated off the ground and followed her as she continued to explore the empty library at her leisure. After taking some precautions, she even slipped into the Restricted Section to pick out some of the more _interesting_ books.

By the time she had finished her excursion, large piles of books and dated editions of the _Daily Prophet_ lay on either side of a comfortable red armchair by one of the windows.

She reached for the first book on her left, and barely opened to the first page before her reading light was obscured by a shadow.

Riddle irritably looked up at the source of the disturbance, matching the glare she was given with one of her own. The librarian she was familiar with was gone; instead, he was replaced with a very stern and very ugly vulture.

Did that old codger hire these teachers from a zoo? "Who are you?"

"I am Irma Pince," she answered stiffly. She didn't remove her sharp gaze away from Riddle. "I'm the librarian."

"What happened to the old one?"

The vulture crinkled her hooked nose (which upon closer inspection resembled a beak). "Transfiguration accident. Ended up as an orangutan. Turns out he didn't _want_ to be changed back, and left before we could fix it. The headmaster found it quite amusing. "

Riddle sniggered. It did sound like him. Her amusement was met with an even sharper glare by the current librarian. "I want to check your books," she said sternly.

Riddle raised a questioning eyebrow. "I'm not breaking any rules that I know of."

"So you didn't take anything from the Restricted Section?"

"No, ma'am." Not that she could prove it. Riddle made sure of that.

The statement didn't seem to ease any of the librarian's concerns. She glided over to the piles of books and glanced at each spine for only a couple of seconds before moving to the next one. By the end, she gave Riddle another glare before walking away.

A small smile of triumph on her lips, Riddle turned her focus back on the open book in her lap, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

She allowed herself this one simple act of indulgence.

* * *

As the door suddenly appeared on her third passing, there was a sense of awe at the action that was not quite her own.

"I see you have decided to leave your blasted cupboard, Potter." Riddle smirked as she opened the door, revealing an impossibly large room inside.

The room held dust-covered items of all shapes and sizes, from broken furniture to damaged broomsticks, animal cages and books. Some were messily scattered along the floor as if they had just been discarded; others lay in a neat and orderly arrangement.

_What **is** this place?_ Potter asked as Riddle weaved through the junk and debris.

"The Room of Requirement, The Come-and-Go Room, it has many names. It provides the visitor with whatever they need the most." Riddle bent down and moved a cage containing the skeleton of an unknown creature. Dissatisfied with her finding, she continued, stepping over a growling and thrashing _Monster Book of Monsters_. "The room makes a great hiding spot if you need to get away from somebody, or to hide an object you don't want found."

Riddle turned a corner, and looked down at her prize with a smug satisfaction. She picked up the discolored diadem carefully, and lightly touched the oval-shaped sapphire gem in the middle.

_What is that?_

Riddle smiled knowingly. "Leverage."

* * *

The Hog's Head was a dirty and dodgy pub that would make even the seediest tavern in Knockturn Alley look like the Three Broomsticks. The dusty wooden tables and grime that seemed to have settled here for centuries only accentuated the unappealing appearance. The pub itself was empty except for the grumpy old bartender and a hooded man sitting at the bar near him.

Riddle wrinkled her nose. She would have preferred having this discussion at Borgin and Burkes, but the old codger was adamant that she didn't stray too far from Hogwarts – even the boon she offered only got her this far.

She took a seat at the table near the fireplace, partially obscured by the shadowy corner.

She only had to wait a few minutes before Lucius Malfoy entered the pub as well, with impeccable timing. She stood from her seat and glanced at him, but did not call out to him. His eyes scanned the surroundings with an air of disgust and contempt, before it was replaced with surprise as they made eye contact.

With a few strides, Lucius made his way towards the dark corner next to the fireplace, and looked down at her, surprise still on his face.

"Hello," Riddle said. "Assuming you are who you appear to be. The password, if you will."

"_Morsmordre_, my lady."

Riddle raised her eyebrows. "Very impressive. Now, a question that only a trusted servant such as yourself could know. You remember Nottingham, don't you?"

Lucius nodded. "Good. What happened there?"

He licked his lips slowly and stiffly replied. "The goblins had turned down the offer to join you. They said they didn't trust any wizard to keep their word, not even you. In retaliation, you went to Nottingham and tortured the family there, before killing them. You made us watch, and even had the new recruits join."

Riddle stared at Lucius for a few moments, before a half-smile appeared and gestured at the empty seat across from her own. "It has been too long, Lucius. Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we?"

Lucius nodded as he took his own seat. He rested his walking stick within reach at the side of the table. "If I may-"

"Your arm," Riddle interrupted. Taken aback by the sudden command, Lucius lifted his right arm and placed it on the table. She chuckled. "The _other_ arm. Sleeve up, Lucius. Don't be ashamed," she added as a look of apprehension pierced through his reserved mask.

Reluctantly, he lifted his other arm, and rolled up the sleeve until a faded Dark Mark was revealed.

Riddle gently moved her fingers up his arm, relishing in the shivers. "How loyal would you say you are to me, Lucius?"

The senior Malfoy looked absolutely uncomfortable in his seat. Whether it was due to the setting or her own actions, she couldn't say. "I am one of your most loyal servants. Your cause is my cause."

"Is that why you renounced my name, claimed to be under the Imperius Curse while others were sent to Azkaban?" Riddle asked sharply. The sudden change in tone drained what little color Lucius had left in his face. "Is that why you thoughtlessly slipped my diary into Miss Weasley's belongings? Tell me how your personal and insignificant vendettas seek to help my cause."

As he tried to stammer out a reply, Riddle attempted to subdue the surging emotions of a reckless, meddling Gryffindor. One who could ruin everything if she didn't get a handle on it.

_'Ruin everything'? He was the one who slipped that diary into her cauldron at Flourish and Blotts! We shouldn't even be talking to him!_

_Potter, it always eludes me how very short-sighted you are, _Riddle thought smugly._ Although if you weren't, I wouldn't be here, so I suppose it's not entirely bad._

_But-_ Harry started, but was quickly cut off.

_Know your place. I've been doing it far longer than you have been alive. The big picture, Potter. Perhaps you should start looking for it instead of bumbling around looking like a buffoon. Not that you need much help in that regard. _

Thankfully, Potter had the good sense to be quiet.

Riddle lifted her head to make eye contact, but Lucius avoided it at every turn.

Perfect.

"My dear Lucius, I have to ask these questions." Her voice once again shifted, exchanging its edge for something soft, soothing, and quiet. "After my _disappearance_, there has been a substantial lack of loyalty even among my inner circle. Why, none of you even bothered to seek me out, to truly check if I was gone from this world.

"Part of me wants to punish you. And yes, you will be punished severely, Lucius." Riddle smiled as she heard a gulp. "Another part is impressed by your cunning and resourcefulness. In part, it is why I contacted you. You still have your contacts within the Aurors?"

"I-Yes, my lady. What is it that you need?"

"Access to Azkaban."

Lucius was silent at first. He looked as if he wanted to refuse, but he nodded slowly. The pompous aristocrat that had came in through the door not even a half an hour ago disappeared entirely. In front of her was a less-than-faithful Death Eater: completely subservient to her.

It felt good knowing she still had power over them, despite the age difference.

"One more thing. My older self is still floating around somewhere, no doubt living a wretched life. If you happen to come across her, do not speak of my existence, and notify me immediately."

Lucius gave her a quizzical look, but offered no objection to her request.

Riddle leaned back in her chair, finally letting go of his arm and waving her guest away. "You are dismissed."

Lucius grabbed his walking stick, and after a curt nod at her direction, quickly exited the Hog's Head.

* * *

"Sherbert lemon?"

Tom gave the headmaster a silent glare. Dumbledore smiled, and moved his attention towards the diadem resting on his desk. It was concerning how she was able to not only obtain one of the Founder's items, but was also able to hide it under his nose, in a room that he did not know even existed until Helena Ravenclaw notified him about it.

Having the Hogwarts ghosts keep an eye out for her was one of his better ideas.

"I take it your meeting with Lucius turned out well?"

Tom rolled her eyes. "As well as it could have."

Dumbledore nodded. "Did you notice anything odd?"

"No." She quirked an eyebrow, her arms now crossed in front of her chest. "Was I supposed to?"

Dumbledore stayed silent. The lack of response made Tom scowl. "What are you hiding from me, you old codger?"

"It was simply an old man's caution. Nothing you would be interested in," Dumbledore offered with a diplomatic smile. "I would like to thank you again for sharing with us the locations for the rest of these Horcruxes. Serverus and I will take care of the one hiding in the Gaunt shack. Unless you-"

"No," she interjected sharply. "I never want to step foot in that place ever again."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"I don't like being manipulated," Tom added. "I'm not a pawn in your twisted little game. You do well to remember that."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Games are much more enjoyable with players of equal skill," he replied. His eyes twinkled, which prompted another scowl. As Tom turned to leave his office, Dumbledore called out to her,"My copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ is always available if you wish to borrow it."

The only response was the stomping of feet on the stairs leading out from his office.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling very much his age, if not older.

"Just an old man's caution..." he muttered to himself.

The words rang hollow as dark thoughts swirled around in his mind.

* * *

Riddle attempted to stare up at the "ceiling" of the dungeons, but she could only see black. Dumbledore's words once again made themselves known in her mind, much to her continued annoyance.

"_Games are much more enjoyable with players of equal skill."_

The nerve of that manipulative, vile, egotistical little–

_Do you trust him?_

Her thoughts interrupted, Riddle shifted to her side, ignoring the question and trying to feign sleep. After a few minutes, a wave of impatience washed over her.

Riddle growled. "I trust Dumbledore as far as I can throw him."

_Not Professor Dumbledore. Mr. Malfoy._

"Lucius is a practical man who places the interest of himself and his family first above all else. I trust him even less."

_Do you trust anybody?_

It was a full minute before she answered. "No."

_Why not?_

"Things are easier that way."

In the silence that remained, Riddle attempted to sleep, but was constantly hounded in her dreams by the sounds of a woman screaming, flashes of bright green light, and a familiar, chilling laughter.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. My self-imposed break took longer than expected. Replaying DA:O didn't help matters either.


	5. Chapter 5

Riddle opened her eyes groggily. She blinked, trying to get used to the dim blackness that permeated the entire room. There were only three torches bearing a small flame, barely illuminating parts of the room.

From what she could see, it was some kind of dungeon chamber, lined with wooden shelves that held filled jars and cobwebs. The jars all held a transparent green liquid and carried grotesque potion ingredients. Riddle even thought she had seen a floating dismembered hand.

A thick, black cauldron filled with an unknown mixture bubbled in the center of the room. The only other thing worthy of note was the thick wooden door which was positioned directly in front of her. The light from one of the torches revealed the outline of a staircase spiraling downward.

She tried to move her body forward towards the door, but there was no response from her legs. The sound of her heartbeat intensified as her hands, arms, and head also failed to respond. Only her eyes were allowed the freedom of movement.

_Ba-dum._

_The Full Body-Bind Curse_, Riddle thought. _How very amateur._

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

She recited the incantation to the counter-curse in her mind, but once again her body failed to move. Her second and third attempts were met with failure.

Her temper flared. She was certain that it was correct.

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

Whatever held her, it was an unfamiliar brand of Dark Magic. No simple counter-curse was going to help her escape her bindings.

_How __did__ I get here, anyway?_ She thought. Riddle closed her eyes and attempted to calm her increasing heartbeat, but could not place a finger on where she had been before.

She briefly considered that she had been Obliviated, but it would have been a frivolous action. Whoever captured her wanted her alive for a reason. Removing her memory without extracting information was an amateur mistake – she had a feeling she was dealing with no amateur here.

The door groaned loudly as it was pushed aside, interrupting her train of thought.

The mysterious stranger who entered the room was wearing a hooded black robe, its face obscured by shadow. If Riddle's jaws weren't bound shut, she would have laughed.

The stranger looked like a Muggle's description of the Grim Reaper, minus the ridiculous scythe. How anyone could find such a comical interpretation of death to be scary or even intimidating was beyond her comprehension.

"Death" took an interest in the bubbling cauldron, staring intently at the concoction before turning its attention to her.

It didn't matter where she moved her eyes – the stranger always occupied her vision. Whatever she was lying against was arranged in such a way that she could never look away from her captor. Were she not in the receiving end, she might have even complimented the design.

Her hooded captor reached an arm out and with its pale, thin fingers, lightly caressed the side of her cheek.

Riddle's eyes widened in recognition as the captor pulled out a wand – _her_ wand – with her free hand.

"It is almost complete," Voldemort whispered. She raised her wand high in the air. "We shall be together very soon."

_BA-DUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM. BA-DUM._

"_Imperio!_"

* * *

Riddle woke up with a start, her breathing heavy. She looked around at her surroundings.

No bubbling cauldron. No disembodied hand. No Voldemort.

A wave of relief washed over her. _It was a dream_, she thought to herself.

They had started out as echoes, voices that were familiar, but belonged to no body. This dream diverged from that. It wasn't one her or Potter's memories – this was different, foreign.

Riddle grabbed her wand, and immediately got to work to break the enchantments on her door. She needed to hurt something.

Badly.

* * *

A red door appeared after she hurriedly paced in front of it three times. Riddle quickly opened it, and found that someone else was already here.

"You're up late," Dumbledore said with a bit of cheer. "Something bothering you?"

Riddle didn't answer. She paced back and forth in front of the door, wand held tightly behind her back. Although she wore a mask of indifference, anybody with eyes could look past her mask and tell that she was angry.

"What are you doing here?" Riddle asked gruffly. "This place was supposed to be a secret, and I don't remember inviting you."

"A fascinating room, truly. I believe I have used this room once, but I didn't think it was capable of such magic. You learn something new every day."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Neither did you. A question for a question," Dumbledore replied with a small smile.

She shot the old codger a glare, but was careful to avoid his gaze.

"It seems like we've reached an impasse. I think there's only one suitable way to solve this." Dumbledore stood up from a yellow armchair that resembled an oversized squash and pulled out a wand from his gaudy robes. The room – which had resembled a cozy den complete with a fuzzy rug, warm fireplace, and comfy armchairs – transformed instantly.

The room was spacious and white, devoid of any needless decorations. Stone knight statues lined three sides of the arena. Some wielded swords, maces, axes, and one was even armed with a morning star. Next to the door that was behind her was a large bookcase. A precursory glance told her that the books pertained to dueling and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He wanted to duel.

"Standard rules apply. We duel until one side concedes or is in no condition to continue. No killing, no physical contact and no Unforgiveables. Does that seem fair to you?"

Riddle stared at the old codger. "And what do you get out of this?"

Dumbledore smiled. "If I win, you have to answer my question. If you win, you will know exactly how I came across the knowledge of this room."

The situation was biased in his favor, and they both knew it. But she was still angry over the events that transpired in her sleep, and if she was being truthful, there was a part of her who wanted to see how well she could fare against him.

She had requested to hurt something, and the Room gave her Dumbledore. If she were in a better mood, she might have found it amusing.

"I accept your terms."

* * *

"A clever idea, animating the statues and bewitching them to explode when they got close," Dumbledore said. "If I hadn't protected myself at the last moment, I might have lost."

The headmaster walked forward as the Room removed the smoldering debris on the floor and repairing the broken statues that were still left standing. By the time he had reached the other side, the room was pristine, and left no evidence that a duel ever took place.

Riddle was pinned helplessly to the wall, devoid of her wand. After the statues had exploded, she had gotten arrogant and careless, assuming that the surprise on Dumbledore's face had clinched her the win. Instead, the old codger has transfigured the resulting smoke into daggers, which pinned her against the wall, and left her easy prey for the following Disarming Charm.

She was silent as the daggers returned back into smoke, and ignored Dumbledore's helping hand. She picked herself up off the ground, and took the wand that was held out for her.

"Now, what seems to be troubling you, Tom?"

_Right_, Riddle thought, pushing down her feelings of anger and humiliation. _The stupid wager. _

A thought of backing out briefly crossed her mind, but it disappeared just as quickly. The old codger was tenacious, and would never let this go. If she ran away now, it would only become much worse over time, like an infected, festering wound.

She would not back out. That didn't mean she had to tell him _everything_.

"A nightmare," she said quickly. She brushed past the headmaster, heading for the door.

"What kind of nightmare?"

Riddle turned around, a half-smile formed on her lips. "I believe I fulfilled my end of the bargain. If you want to learn more, you'll simply have to duel me again." She wasn't going to let him get away with that win anytime soon.

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised for a moment, before he returned her smile with one of his own. "Of course, Tom."

Feeling triumphant over her miniscule win (she'll take what she can get at this point), Riddle opened the door, and slipped away.

It was only when she returned to her living quarters down in the dungeons did she notice how tired she felt. After a few steps, she collapsed onto her cot, falling deep into another sleep.

This time, no echoes bothered her.


	6. Chapter 6

If there was one word she could use to describe Azkaban, it would be "oppressive".

There was surprisingly little information about the prison itself, focusing instead on the Dementors. What little she could glean did not – could not – fully describe the atmosphere of the place.

Azkaban was dark and damp, with a persisting, foreboding chill in the air. Colour was sucked out of everything within the walls, leaving only a dull gray interior.

The stone corridors around her were narrow and constricting, appearing to close in on her with every step. In contrast, the fortress extended high enough to a point where she couldn't even spot the ceiling.

As they passed by a set of prisoner's cells, Riddle noticed that none of the prisoners they walked past acknowledged their presence. They did not approach the metal bars, did not try to grab their attention or protest their innocence. They were simply in the fetal position, sometimes rocking back and forth, with only a handful muttering to themselves.

Trapped inside their own minds.

Everyone, including herself, was relieved when they finally reached the door that led to the visitor's area.

"Well," said Cornelius Fudge, taking off his lime-green bowler hat. He was someone that Riddle didn't account for in her initial plans, but his presence didn't hinder her at all. "What was it you wanted to do again, miss?" He then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the accumulated sweat on his brow.

Fudge was a short and portly man who carried himself with undeserved importance. How a buffoon like that became Minister of Magic was something Riddle couldn't understand.

"History of Magic project, sir." The lie flowed smoothly off her tongue. "I'm doing an essay on notorious criminals throughout history, and circumstances that led them to their illustrious careers, so to speak."

"And that's why you wish to conduct an interview with Lestrange and Black."

Riddle flashed the Minister a meek smile. "Yes, sir."

"Surely there are books you can use for your research?"

"Of course, sir. But I believe these interviews will add a sense of authenticity to my work. There are things you just can't learn about in a library."

Fudge had a pained expression on his face, his mind shifting gears. He reluctantly sighed. "This is an unprecedented action...and two of the most infamous criminals in Azkaban to boot. However, Lucius has put in a good word for you" – he stole a glance towards Lucius' direction – "and I trust his judgment as well as the security of this facility."

Riddle smiled genuinely this time. "Thank you. I've always been a supporter of the Ministry and their actions. I'm glad that support has not been unfounded."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I hope you'll continue to support the Ministry in the future," Fudge said with a hearty laugh.

Riddle suppressed the urge to laugh along with him. _If only you knew._

* * *

A few minutes passed since Bellatrix was brought into the room, and neither her nor Riddle spoke. Instead, Bellatrix had been inclined to stare at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, while Riddle indulged her.

Bellatrix was the first to break the silence. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"They didn't tell you? I want to interview you. The infamous Bellatrix Lestrange."

Bellatrix shrieked in laughter. "I remember now. They told me someone wanted to ask me some questions. I would have refused, but I don't have much of a choice in the matter." To prove the point, the chains that bound her jangled from her movement.

Riddle couldn't help but smile. "You didn't want to talk to me?"

"I'd much rather hear you scream."

"Oh, but you have," Riddle said, with honey-coated words. "The night under the canopy of the stars, next to the burning Bones household. We reveled in our own passion, and our bodies became one. I even remember how beautiful you were under the full moon's light."

She felt something stir inside of her, but it disappeared before she could give it a thought.

Bellatrix's smug face transformed into an expression of abject horror.

"My dear, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Bellatrix lowered her head, prostrating in front of her as much as she could while restrained. "My Lady, I...forgive me for my ignorance...you look so...if I had known it was you..."

Riddle reached forward and lightly stroked Bellatrix's dull black hair. It felt coarse, a product of her imprisonment. "It's quite alright, Bella. Forgive me for stringing you along for a bit. I wanted to have some fun."

Bellatrix raised her head and smiled slightly. The excess swagger and arrogance she displayed earlier had all but disappeared; in its place was submissive adoration, like an overeager puppy waiting for any opportunity to please their master.

_This_ Bellatrix was much more agreeable.

"I came to visit you because I need your aid, Bella. I need access to your Gringotts vault. There is something of mine I wish returned to me."

"Of course. Anything for you."

Riddle pulled out the quill and parchment from her robes, and watched intently with increasing satisfaction as Bellatrix messily scrawled her name. She stowed it away back into her robes once she deemed the document satisfactory.

Getting up from her chair, Riddle walked around to the other side of the table and met Bellatrix's longing gaze. She leaned forward and intentionally brushed her lips against Bellatrix's before moving upward and planting a kiss instead on her forehead.

"Thank you," Riddle whispered. "Your assistance will not be forgotten."

Bellatrix only responded with a noise between a sigh and a moan.

Riddle knocked on the door forcefully three times, signaling that she was done. By the time, she returned to her place in the chair, Bellatrix Lestrange had been dragged out of the room and back towards her cell.

Potter's emotions were a tumultuous mess; a hodgepodge of confusion, embarrassment and even curiosity.

"I am no doubt going to regret doing this, but go ahead and ask your questions."

_Err... _Potter fumbled about, stringing nonsense syllables and incoherent sentences together. Finally, he was able to ask a simple question. W_hat **was** that?_

"Business," Riddle replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

_Not that. I meant–_

"I know exactly what you meant. That was what I was referring to."

_I don't understand._

"Of course you don't," Riddle said with an eye roll. "There is more than one way to make someone do what you want, Potter. Physical means can be just as persuasive as fear or magic."

Riddle smiled as she felt Potter become slightly more embarrassed.

_So you don't actually like her?_ he asked, hoping to move past the subject.

"She is very useful. A completely devoted follower is hard to find these days," said Riddle. "But no, I harbour no feelings for Bellatrix, romantic or otherwise. That goes for anyone else. "

_I don't understand, _Potter stated._ You don't trust anyone_. _You don't love anyone. You don't have anybody you can call a friend. You don't have anybody to rely on but yourself._

"So? Are you going to lecture me about the power of friendship, Potter? Try to make me repentant and blabber on about how 'love conquers all'?"

_No. It just sounds pretty lonely to me._

Her smile evaporated. "I didn't ask for your pity, Potter."

The silence that lingered was deafening.

* * *

"Sirius Black."

The gaunt, corpse-like figure's eyes moved to meet her own. _Perfect._

"You wanted an interview with me?" Black asked in a raspy voice.

"Something like that." Riddle folded her hands and let them rest on the table in front of her. "Just a simple question really. I need to know if there are any protections around Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

Black lifted his head to fully look at her and barked a laugh. Azkaban had been far more cruel to Black than it had been to Bellatrix: his face was pale, with sunken cheeks that added to his fragile, skeletal image.

"Odd question for an interview. Though I'm starting to get the feeling that asking about my love life isn't what you're here for."

Riddle shrugged nonchalantly. "All I need is an answer, and then I'll leave you alone."

"Not worried about anybody listening in?"

"It's been taken care of," said Riddle.

"I'll pass."

"That's unfortunate. I guess our mutual friend will just have to scurry away..."

Riddle made a motion to exit her chair, when Black interjected,"What mutual friend?" He was no longer slouching, his back completely straightened. Whatever sense of disinterest he had in this meeting disappeared.

Riddle slowly sat back down. "Does the name Peter Pettigrew mean anything to you?"

Sirius Black was left speechless.

"Who _are_ you?"

Riddle dismissively waved away the question. "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is this: give me what I want, and I will return the favour."

"And what do you think I want?"

She leaned forward. "What I would want if I were in your position. Revenge."

Black stared at her. "The only thing you'll have to worry about is dear old mother. Crazy witch doesn't take too kindly to trespassers, myself included. She'll probably blow her top if she sees you. Too bad I won't be there to see it."

Riddle nodded, and started to make her way towards the door. "You've been most cooperative. You will have what you seek."

"Not worried that I'll talk?"

"You're by all accounts a mass murderer and a double agent. Anything you say will just brand you as a madman." She turned towards Black, a half-smile on her face as she knocked three times. "So why don't you be a _good dog_ and stay."

For the second time, Sirius Black was left speechless.

And she enjoyed every second of it.


End file.
